


Speak Now

by muchmorethanaprincess



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Friends to Lovers, angst with a resolution
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-21
Updated: 2016-02-21
Packaged: 2018-05-22 09:33:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,165
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6074140
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/muchmorethanaprincess/pseuds/muchmorethanaprincess
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clarke doesn't realize she's in love with her best friend until she discovers he's planning on getting married. To someone who isn't her.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Speak Now

**Author's Note:**

> The title of this story was obviously inspired by the Taylor Swift song of the same name, though it does not follow anything close to the narrative of the song. 
> 
> Please note that Gina is the girlfriend/almost fiancé in this fic and she will not be vilified, if that's something you're worried about.

They’re on Clarke’s couch, her legs tossed over his thighs, watching a documentary that they’ve both seen before, pizza box empty on the coffee table, and Clarke is trying not to be bothered.

She’s trying really, really hard. And she has been trying, for a month now, to not be bothered. Nothing between she and Bellamy has specifically changed, but she still feels it. Clarke is sure that she herself is the problem. It’s all in her head. Bellamy hasn’t done anything wrong.

And he hasn’t. Clarke would never blame him for having a serious girlfriend. And he’s not even one of those people who loses track of everyone else in his life when he has a significant other, so she doesn’t have anything real or concrete to feel upset about. He’s been just as much her best friend in the year he’s been with Gina as he was the two years before that, after they got past each other’s facades and realized they liked each other.

They met when Clarke got a job offer in the city, and decided to take it and make the move. Octavia, who she had known through college, offered her social circle easily, which included Bellamy. Clarke got on really well with everyone else, but she and Bellamy were at each other’s throats within one bar night. But she liked talking about art with Lincoln and Maya, she liked catching up with Octavia, she liked that Raven took to her immediately and constantly made her laugh, and she liked watching Monty’s flirtationship with Miller, so she dealt with Bellamy picking arguments with her every chance he got, making cutting remarks left and right. He loved to make jabs at her new car, at her being an artist, because that was a “rich girl’s trust fund career,” ending every taunt with a sneered, “princess.”

Everyone looked on while they fought, used to it, until one Friday when Clarke showed up for their usual night at the bar and started drinking in earnest. She sat at a table with the others for a while, but all of their jokes sucked, and her laugh was hollow, and she really couldn’t bring herself to give a shit about how their weeks were, because her week fucking sucked.

She slid out of the booth to go to the bathroom, then stood at the bar by herself. And then, of course, Bellamy showed up. He put his hands (his large, tan hands) on the bar next to her. She tried not to look at his beautiful forearms, but it was difficult. She’d tried for a long time, and ignoring them was hard when she was… drunk? Nearly drunk? She wasn’t sure.

“Bad day at the office?” he asked, with that fucking asshole voice, deep and rumbly, and his fucking smug smile.

She looked at his face, rolled her eyes, and said, “fuck you, I have a job.”

He might have focused on the job part, but the slur that slipped through her words caught his attention instead.

“Whoa princess, what are you drinking?”

She lifted her glass in his direction. “Vodka and something.” She shrugged. “I don’t know. It kind of tastes like a gummy bear. But you know, with the alcoholic burn.”

Bellamy narrowed his eyes, but kept on.

“You know, I’ve been wondering for ages, are those real diamonds?” He raised a hand and grazed a thumb over her earring.

“They are, aren’t they?” he said, smug. “Are those from a rich boyfriend, or your rich dad?”

Clarke felt anger flare through her. They were, in fact, real diamonds, but they were small, modest studs. Clarke had been determined not to reveal her actual history to Bellamy. She didn’t want him looking at her with sympathy, she wanted him to find out from someone else and feel like shit, and she wanted to take pleasure in him feeling like an idiot. But she was too sad and livid and just, _tired_ , to turn away and ignore him.

So she rounded on him.

“Yeah, they are real diamonds, you asshole, and they used to be my grandmother’s. My _dead, rich_ dad gave them to me. And you want to take another jab at my car too? My new, expensive car that I got three years ago after my dad died in a fucking car accident? You wanna make fun of me for spending part of my inheritance from my _dead father_ on a car with a perfect safety rating? Be my fucking guest!”

She started to turn away, but then decided against it, finishing her drink in three consecutive swallows, and slamming the glass down on the bar.

“And you know what?” She jabbed a finger into his chest. His face was shocked, and it should have been gratifying, but Clarke was just tired. “I have a job, you dickhead! I teach art at the university. I’m a teacher, just like you. Do you want to insult my career again? Make fun of my blonde hair again?”

“Clarke,” Bellamy said, close to pleading, the first time he’d actually said her name, but she wasn’t having it.

“He died three years ago _today_ , asshole.”

She stormed away, too upset to enjoy the stricken expression on his face.

But Bellamy followed, called her name as she made it outside, drove her car home with her in the passenger seat, walked her to her front door, dragged her to her bedroom and told her to change while he scavenged in her kitchen for food to absorb some of the alcohol, and water to curb her hangover.

He made it back to her bedroom with toast and a large glass of water, only to find Clarke with her skinny jeans still attached to one ankle.

I can’t get them off,” she whined, looking up at him.

He laughed, and knelt by the bed, tugging on her jeans gently until they came off. Clarke pulled her shirt over her head, tossing it across the room.

“Whoa!” Bellamy yelled when he looked up.

“Um, there’s some t-shirts in the second drawer,” she said, waving her hand at the dresser. Bellamy retrieved the biggest one he could find, helping her into it when she only lifted her arms at him.

He made her eat the toast and drink the water, then stood awkwardly in the middle of the room.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I didn’t… I didn’t know.”

“I know you didn’t know.” Clarke rolled her eyes dramatically. “You’re the kind of dick who assumes you know people you’ve only just met, you’re not the kind of dick who deliberately torments people who have been through shit. You’ve just gotta stop assuming you know people. You don’t know me. Also, you’ve gotta text Raven, because she was supposed to drive me home tonight.”

He nodded. “Okay, I’ll just—” he motioned to the door.

But when Clarke woke up the next morning, he was still there, with coffee, and breakfast on the stove.

He looked up when she walked into the kitchen, a small, gentle smile lighting his face. A genuine one, not the smug smirk he was always shooting at her.

The smile fell a little when she didn’t do anything in return besides stare.

“Are you okay?”

“Um.” She looked at the stove. “Feed me first, then ask me that.”

Bellamy fed her pancakes with bacon, and broke their awkward silence by asking about her job. She was happy to talk about her students, and they compared the best and worst parts of her teaching position at the university with his at a high school. They discussed the pros and cons of teaching a textbook subject like history, as Bellamy did, as opposed to something skill-based, like Clarke’s art classes. She admitted that she enjoyed the beginner’s classes the most, usually filled with students just trying to get a couple extra credits who thought they didn’t have any artistic capability. She liked watching them finish her course with a new appreciation for what they could do.

He asked if she wanted to talk about her dad, his voice gentle and offering, and she shook her head. But then she opened her mouth, and everything about her mother – how they’d only spoken six times in the last three years, usually an argument but the last time just a sad, disappointed conversation, without any dramatics at all, how sometimes she thought she missed her but then couldn’t remember if there was actually anything to miss, or if she’d made up the mother who loved her in her head – came bursting out.

Bellamy listened through it, making the appropriate sympathetic noises and comments, and Clarke felt better after.

When he left, he said he’d see her at the bar the next week. And the next week at the bar, he slid a beer in front of her before taking the seat next to her.

“You gonna take it easy tonight?” he asked, joking but careful.

She groaned. “ _Shut up_. Don’t be mean to me,” she whined.

He laughed, and Clarke smiled at him for the first time. He grinned back.

In the beginning of their friendship, Clarke thought that he was being overly caring to make up for being a dick to her. Admittedly, Clarke tried to tread carefully herself, making an effort not to push his buttons. But she realized after a few months that Bellamy wasn’t doing anything special, that was just who he was. Checking on her when she had a bad day, making sure she was eating enough, showing up at her apartment with pizza and beer when she was too tired to make it to bar night. He even barged into her apartment with homemade soup when she was sick.

Bellamy was a caretaker by nature, and he was good at it. When Clarke was being completely honest, she knew her life was a bit messy sometimes, and she often sucked at taking care of herself, so at some point she stopped fighting it and just let him.

And somewhere between nights of Netflix and ranting about their students and eating takeout at midnight, Bellamy became her best friend. It was uncomplicated, easy and right.

Except now it was complicated. Because Bellamy had been with Gina for a year, and he was talking about marrying her.

It shouldn’t be a problem. It _wasn’t_ a problem. Bellamy was dating Gina, but he was Clarke’s best friend. He would always be Clarke’s best friend.

But two months ago, they went on vacation to the Carolina coast with their friends, the way they always did every summer, and Bellamy went to bed with Gina when he would have stayed up with Clarke on the beach house couch, drinking beer and talking until they either dragged themselves up to their own beds or fell asleep on each other.

It was the first time she’d actually felt his relationship with Gina affect her own friendship with him, and it sent a horrifying lurch through her stomach when she realized that.

Ever since, she couldn’t stop the nagging feeling that she was losing something, even when everything was exactly the same. Even worse, once she’d realized that _she_ wanted to be the one going to bed with him at the end of the night, she couldn’t get it out of her head. She couldn’t stop her eyes from sweeping over his body when he wasn’t looking, couldn’t stop herself from wondering what his large hands would feel like if he touched her with purpose, couldn’t help picturing him above her while she fingered her own cunt at night, groaning his name into the silence of her empty apartment.

She had always loved him, but she finally understood how much, and in what ways. She wanted him, but she had been determined to wait, to be patient. He probably wouldn’t last with Gina forever, so she just had to sit tight while the relationship ran its course.

Which she felt bad for even thinking, because Gina was amazing. She was kind and hardworking, a nurse at the general hospital (a career that Bellamy would have never dared to call her “princess” for). She was perfect for Bellamy – independent but still made him feel loved and needed, cheerful but not in an obnoxious way, with a sarcastic sense of humor that all their friends appreciated. And beautiful, on top of it all.

Clarke felt awful, but she was prepared to let it go, convinced that it was her own fault for having not realized her own feelings for so long, and her punishment would be to endure watching his relationship from the outside until it ended naturally. She would _not_ interfere.

And then three weeks ago, the word “propose” crushed Clarke’s plans into dust. It came from Miller, casual behind the bar, nodding to Bellamy and Gina playing darts. “You know he’s talking about proposing?”

Clarke’s whole body froze, her heart stopping and then starting again at an outrageous speed.

“What?” she said, trying to sound normal, but the word came out with a squeak.

Miller raised a knowing eyebrow.

“It’s only been a year,” Clarke said, aiming for calm, not quite succeeding. “Is he, is he serious?”

Miller shrugged. “He brought it up himself, I can’t imagine anyone’s pushing him into it. He said it might be time to start looking at rings, so you’ve probably got a little time.”

Clarke gaped at him.

“I don’t—I’m not,” she stuttered.

“Look, Bellamy’s old enough that I guess he wants to settle down, and Gina’s offering him the things he wants.” He held up his hands in defense. “I like Gina, I think she’s great. I’m just saying, if you don’t like the path he’s on, maybe you should let him know there’s another option. Maybe you owe it to him. Maybe you owe it to _yourself_ , Clarke.”

She glanced over at Bellamy, laughing at something Gina had said, before turning back to Miller, a frown tugging at her lips.

“I’m not sure I deserve anything good anymore.”

But since that day, Clarke hadn’t been able to stop thinking about Bellamy, _married_ to someone who wasn’t her.

She knew it wouldn’t change anything, not at first. It actually might make them closer in the beginning, because Bellamy would come to her about his nerves, would use her to get away from wedding planning craziness, would escape from engagement stress arguments at her place.

But things _would_ change, eventually. Clarke assumed that marrying Gina would mean Bellamy finally living with her, so she wouldn’t feel the same in his apartment, because it wouldn’t just be _his_ anymore.

And there would be kids someday, and Clarke knew, she just, she could see exactly how their lives would separate. It would happen slowly, over years, with Clarke watching from the side and regretting that it took Gina for her to see her own feelings.

And now she and Bellamy are sitting on her couch, everything as it should be, except for the feeling like a ticking time bomb in her stomach. She’s been trying to act as normal as possible, but she knows she doesn’t always succeed.

“Hey,” Bellamy taps her legs where they’re draped over his own. “You still with me?”

“What?” Clarke jolts. “Yeah, yeah. I’m here. What were you saying?”

“I was _asking_ if you were going to be proposed to, would you want to help pick out the ring? Because that ruins the surprise, right? But also, you’re going to be wearing it the rest of your life, so it should be exactly what you want, right?”

Clarke gulps. “Should I take this to mean you’re planning on asking Gina to marry you?” she asks, though she already knows. This is just the first time Bellamy has actually mentioned it to her.

“I’m thinking about it,” he says, shrugging like it’s not a big deal. Which. It is a huge deal.

“So,” he nudges her shoulder with his own. “What do you think about rings?”

“Well,” Clarke pauses to fully consider it, determined to be a good friend. “I think that it depends on the person. Would Gina care more about the surprise proposal, or the perfect ring? But then again, do you really want her to be _that_ surprised? I mean, if she has no idea a proposal is coming at all, that’s probably a bad sign, right? But anyway, I can’t imagine Gina would be unhappy with anything you did. If you really fuck up on the ring, you can always get her a new one later.”

He laughs, the way she wanted him to.

“So you’ve—you’ve talked about marriage with her?” Clarke asks, her heart thumping violently.

“Yeah. Yeah, we want the same things.”

“And you love her?”

His eyebrows pull together, and he turns a little to face her, but she keeps looking ahead at the television.

“Yeah, of course I love her.”

“Okay.”

“Are you okay?” he asks, his thumb stroking her leg absentmindedly.

“Yeah, yeah I’m fine.” She pushes away from him. “I’m gonna go to the bathroom.”

Once there, she stares at her face in the mirror, and tries to convince herself not to tell him how she feels.

But she’s coming up short. She can’t stop thinking _you should marry your best friend, you should marry your best friend, you should marry your best friend._ She can’t stop thinking that Gina _isn’t_ Bellamy’s best friend, _she_ is. But Gina will be his best friend, in ten years when he and Clarke have drifted apart because he has priorities and a family that doesn’t involve her.

The thought terrifies her. She doesn’t want to lose him like that. As painful as it would be, she’d rather lose him now all at once than stand by as he builds a life with someone else, and she keeps making remarkably poor dating decisions for herself. She’s sure that without Bellamy, there will be another Finn or Lexa in her future. He’s always telling her she has awful taste in romantic prospects, and he’s always right.

She walks back out the living room, sitting down but not as close as before. She’s silent for a minute, gathering her courage.

“Don’t marry her. Don’t propose,” she says, voice quiet and full of shame but still. Steady.

Bellamy turns to look at her, slowly.  
“What?” His voice is a well of confusion.

“I said, don’t marry Gina. Don’t propose to her.”

“I don’t understand,” Bellamy says, tension creeping up his shoulders, “I thought you liked Gina?”

Clarke nearly cracks. “I do. She’s wonderful, I think she’s a great match for you, she’s everything you deserve.”

“Then why shouldn’t I marry her?” There’s hurt on his face now, and Clarke has to look away.

“Because she’s not me,” Clarke whispers.

Bellamy’s jaw drops, just a little.

“Clarke,” he breathes, pleading, just like the first time he said her name.

“No,” she interrupts quickly, “don’t say anything. Just—just let me talk or I’ll never get it out, okay?”

He nods. She takes a deep breath.

“I don’t want you to make a decision like this without knowing… fuck, I don’t know how to say this. I’m—I’m not perfect, but you can’t ever tell me that I didn’t speak up, okay? I made my feelings known, that’s all I can do.” She thinks she might sound a little hysterical, so she takes another breath.

“Just, don’t get married,” she whispers, “don’t… don’t make vows with someone else. Don’t be with her when you could be with me.”

She swallows, and the expression on Bellamy’s face gives nothing away.

“When I could be with you?” he asks, his tone cold.

“Yes.”

“How long have you felt this way?”

She winces at his voice, which tells her he feels betrayed.

“Since the beach house this year. I was—I wasn’t planning on telling you, I was going to wait until you and Gina broke up on your own, but then… _marriage_ Bellamy. I couldn’t let you marry someone else not knowing…”

“What do you expect from me? Did you think I would just go dump Gina for you?” he asks.

“No! No, that’s not it at all, Bellamy. I just wanted you to know. I didn’t want you to get married never knowing how I feel. If you’d ever had any thoughts of me that way, you deserved to know.”

“Well I didn’t,” he says, harsh, “I don’t.”

Clarke recoils slightly. “Okay.”

Bellamy leans forward, buries his face in his hands. “Jesus Christ, Clarke, why didn’t you figure this out sooner?”

“I don’t know,” she says helplessly, “I wish I had. I’m sure it was creeping up on me for ages but… I just didn’t realize. And once I did, I couldn’t go back.”

She wants to reach for him, run her fingers across his back, like she does sometimes when he’s stressed, but she doesn’t dare.

“You are my best friend, Bellamy. And I want you in all the ways that someone can want another person. But if you don’t feel the same, if you still marry Gina, that’s okay.” She’s on the verge of tears, her voice wavering, but she keeps going. “I just wanted you to _know_. You deserve that. If you don’t want me the way I want you, that’s okay. And I… maybe you wouldn’t even want this, but I wouldn’t let this ruin us. I swear to god I will push through all of the awkwardness for you, because I just want you in my life, more than anything. I want to be the person you come home to everyday, the person you tell all your dumb stories about your students to, the person you make love to and sleep next to every night, the person you share a mortgage and insurance with,” she pauses, trying to say the one that scares her, “the person you have kids with, build a life and a family with,” she whispers, “but I will settle for bar nights and movies and very platonic cuddling and being the weird rich aunt to your future children if that’s what it takes to keep you in my life at all.”

He stares at her, unmoving.

“See?” She laughs, watery and broken. “I’m kind of good at vows.”

Bellamy launches off the couch suddenly, almost knocking into Clarke’s coffee table as he grabs his briefcase full of student papers and turns for the door.

“I should go,” he says, his voice completely devoid of emotion.

“Sure.” Clarke stands to follow him, but he’s nearly out the door by the time she’s off the couch.

“Bye Bellamy,” she says, wrecked, as the door shuts behind him.

It feels final.

 

Bellamy doesn’t call or text her the next day, nor the next. Clarke tries not to freak out about it, but this was clearly not the way she wanted it to go. Now that Bellamy knows how she feels, she’s really not sure _what_ she expected. It seems stupid to think that he would ever want her when he has Gina. His voice echoes around in her head constantly, _did you think I would just go dump Gina for you?_ Which of course, was not what she wanted, but this nagging, awful silence from him wasn’t what she wanted either.

She tries desperately to ignore it, to push away the gaping hole in her life from not talking to him, but on Friday, when all of their friends meet at the bar, she can’t bring herself to go.

She’s not sure what would be worse – seeing Bellamy there and having to act like nothing has changed, or _not_ seeing Bellamy there, and knowing that he’s avoiding her. So she stays home and cracks open a bottle of wine by herself.

Raven texts her, says:

_Where are you and Bellamy tonight?_

Clarke can only bring herself to type back:

_I’m at home._

Raven responds:

_And Bellamy?_

Clarke hates this, hates that she doesn’t know what he’s up to, that she hasn’t known for a week.

_No clue._

Raven doesn’t buy it, and when she asks if Clarke’s okay, Clarke lets herself admit that she’s not. Raven tells her she’ll be at her place in thirty, and shows up right on time, a bottle of tequila and a bag of limes in hand.

She holds them up, a gentle smile on her face like a peace offering. “You gonna tell me what’s wrong?”

Clarke nods. It takes a few shots, but soon she’s on the couch crying as Raven wraps her arms around her and pets her hair softly.

“I’m such a fucking idiot,” she sobs, “thinking he might… I don’t even know what. But he just, he walked out without saying anything! And I haven’t heard anything from him since and _oh god_ Raven what if he never wants to see me again? What if I fucked up everything?”

Raven laughs, just a little snort, but it isn’t cruel. “There’s no way that’s possible. Romantic or not, that boy loves you. He’s not going to throw you out of his life, Clarke.”

“But then why wouldn’t he just say that he doesn’t feel the same? I told him we could ignore it and move on, if that’s what he wanted.”

“Have you tried to talk to him since then either?” Raven asks.

Clarke sniffles and shakes her head. “I haven’t been brave enough.”

Raven strokes her back and takes another drink, handing the bottle back to Clarke. “Maybe he needs some time. Whatever he does now… it’s a big decision, you know? Maybe he just needs some time.”

Clarke nods against Raven’s neck, but Bellamy wasn’t at the bar tonight when Raven left. He’s avoiding her.

It feels worse than she was expecting.

 

Another week passes without Bellamy, and then another. During her third missed bar night, Octavia texts her.

_Where have you been lately?_

Clarke responds:

_Busy, that’s all._

Octavia sees through it, because she says:

_Did something happen between you and bell? Bc he’s here tonight but giving me very weird answers about you._

Clarke sighs. She might as well tell her.

_We haven’t seen each other in a few weeks. I told him not to marry Gina. He left without saying much. Haven’t spoken since._

Octavia responds with several texts in quick succession.

_WHOA_

_HOLY SHIT_

And then, after a small pause:

_Um okay I’m just not going to interfere with this bc I love all three of you and it’s really not my business. I’m proud of you for being honest though._

That makes Clarke smile, just a little.

_Thanks O._

 

Another week passes, and it’s been a whole month since Clarke and Bellamy have seen each other. No texts, no calls. The silence is deafening, and Clarke tries not to be heartbroken, but she is. Not even over losing the possibility of a romantic relationship with him, though. His absence is just so unbearably noticeable, and she misses her best friend.

She picks up her phone to text him, but she always ends up putting it down without sending anything. If he wanted to talk to her, he’d do something, right? After all, she’s the one who put all her cards on the table, he’s the one who walked out. It’s his move, except he’s not making one.

She desperately wishes he would. She could deal with anything, _anything_ , except this.

 

She goes back to bar night after a couple more weeks. When Bellamy sees her walk in, he makes excuses and leaves within a minute, barely making eye contact with her for a split second before he’s out the door.

Clarke’s stomach drops in shock, and she suddenly feels like she might throw up. But then Raven’s there, guiding her to a seat, sliding her a drink, keeping her hand on Clarke’s arm to steady her.

Octavia slides in on her other side.

“This is my punishment for being honest?” Clarke says, almost hysterical. “This is the fucking worst. I’m never being honest ever again.”

“Yes you would,” Miller says, sliding her a shot from the other side of the bar. “If it was this important, you would.”

Clarke raises the shot glass in a mocking toast. “To losing the important person in my life for saying the important things. My favorite.” She tosses back the shot.

“Bellamy and Gina broke up,” Octavia says, quietly, like she shouldn’t be saying it at all.

“What?” Clarke and Raven both exclaim in tandem.

Octavia shrugs, a little uncomfortable.

“When?” Clarke prods gently.

“A few weeks ago? I don’t really know, I don’t think Bellamy told me right away. And he didn’t tell me anything about the break up, I just know that they’re done. He said he didn’t want to talk about it.”

“Oh my god,” Clarke whispers, a little horrified.

“I mean, this might be good for you, right?” Octavia asks, confused at the devastated expression on Clarke’s face.

She shakes her head. “No. They broke up and he’s still avoiding me like I’m the plague? That’s not good at all.”

Raven nudges her. “If you want to get drunk tonight, I’ll drive you home.”

Clarke gives her the warmest smile she can muster. “My hero.”

 

Soon it’s been two months since Clarke’s declaration, and she’s still heartbroken. And then it’s been three. It’s so unbelievably idiotic that Clarke is the one who feels like she’s been through a break up. But Bellamy used to be everywhere in her life, and now he’s nowhere. She tries not to go through the photos on her phone too often, but it’s hard to resist wallowing sometimes.

Wells comes to visit, shows up at Clarke’s door for a weekend and, he admits, because Raven told him she was worried about her. Clarke gladly accepts the company, and they order pizza and spend a night watching crappy movies on Netflix. She’s gotten used to living away from Wells, and it’s nice to have him in the same place with her for a few days. Raven was right, because it’s a good distraction for her.

In the morning, she takes Wells to the art museum at the university where she teaches, but they spend his second evening in again, lounging in sweats and talking about their lives.

Someone knocks at the front door.

Clarke would have never said she had Bellamy’s fucking _knock_ memorized, but she knows instantly that it’s him. Or at least, that is exactly the sound she’s heard hundreds of times, whenever he shows up at her place.

She looks over at Wells. He knows the whole sordid tale, and he would absolutely not let her off the hook if she pretends she isn’t home.

The knock sounds again.

“Um, I’ll just…” She gets off the couch to answer it, and to her relief, Wells follows.

Bellamy’s on the other side of the door, leaning against the frame with one hand, startling a little when she pulls it open.

They stare at each other for a minute. Clarke doesn’t know what she’s feeling. Relief, that he wanted to see her, but also anxiety twisting through her stomach at what else he might want.

Then Bellamy tears his eyes off her face long enough to glance at Wells, his brows pulling together in confusion.

“Bellamy,” she says, her voice coming out weaker than she wants it to, “this is Wells. Wells, this is Bellamy.” She motions between them, and luckily they both seem willing to be polite.

“Nice to meet you, I’ve heard a lot about you,” Bellamy says, extending his hand. Wells takes it, replying, “Same to you.”

Clarke can’t stop staring at Bellamy, drinking in his face after so long not being around him. He seems to be doing the same but… Clarke doesn’t dare hope.

Wells looks between them, says, “I’m gonna go see what Raven’s up to tonight,” and is out of the apartment before they can blink, but not before hugging Clarke and whispering, “I’ll stay gone for the night unless you tell me the coast is clear.”

The door shuts behind him, and then it’s just Bellamy and Clarke, staring at each other, neither one capable of coming up with anything useful to say.

“Hi,” Bellamy says, finally.

Clarke nods slowly. “Hi.”

“You look nice.”

Clarke looks down at herself. “I’m in sweatpants,” she says, doubtful.

She can almost see Bellamy squirming internally. It doesn’t make her feel better.

“Why are you here?” she asks, crossing her arms over her chest to keep from reaching for him. Her heart is thumping heavily and she wants him more than ever. But he’s been absent for three months and she can’t take another dose of that.

“I wanted to see you,” he says, his voice quiet and hard.

“Is that all?”

“No, no of course not.” He rubs a hand over his face, then takes a step forward. Clarke meets it with a step back, keeping the short distance between them.

“Then what?” Clarke says, as they each take another step.

“I wanted to talk to you. I wanted to tell you—” he cuts off, sighs, takes another step forward, enough that Clarke’s step back pushes her against the kitchen counter.

Bellamy hovers in front of her, but Clarke refuses to look at him, staring at the floor instead.

“I’m not with Gina anymore. _God_ , this is awful, there’s no delicate way to have this conversation, okay? Let’s just both agree that I feel awful about this, yeah?”

Clarke swallows, nods, keeps looking at the floor. Bellamy leans into her, just a little, putting a hand on the counter next to her hip, reaching the other up to push the hair off of her downturned face.

“It was two weeks after… I tried, I tried _so hard_ not to let it change anything. But Clarke. What you said changed everything.” His voice is heavy, purposeful. He leans into her, cradles the back of her neck as he brushes his lips across her temple.

She tries not to be too obvious about how he’s affecting her, but she’s pretty sure he can feel the way she quakes at his touch.

He moves his hand off the counter, puts it on the curve of her waist.

“I couldn’t stay with her once I knew you wanted me. I couldn’t—couldn’t ignore the way I felt about you, pretend that it didn’t exist, the way I had been for so long. That night, you said that once you realized, you couldn’t go back. Well once I knew, I couldn’t stop knowing. I couldn’t stop thinking about you, every moment, every—” He cuts off again, takes a deep breath. “So I came to talk to you, to tell you all that, and to ask you if you still feel the same.”

A tear tracks down Clarke’s cheek as she finally looks up at him. His eyes—she’s _never_ seen his eyes like this, desperate and full of hope and aching, and her heart lurches that it’s for her.

“I couldn’t stop if I tried,” she whispers, and then Bellamy’s crashing into her, their mouths meeting and calming all the pain and heartbreak and distance between them for the last three months. It slows after a moment, to something soft, their lips moving tenderly as Clarke fists her hands in his shirt. She pushes him away suddenly.

“Three months, you asshole! What the hell is wrong with you? You felt this way and you stayed away for three months! Do you know how worried and upset and heartbroken I was all this time? What the fuck is wrong with you?”

He laughs softly, but sobers, and rests his forehead against hers.

“I’m sorry. I really am. I just—I felt _so_ awful Clarke. I was angry with you, at first. I kept thinking _how dare she spring this on me, when everything else is going right_ , and then I was angry because I couldn’t stop thinking of you. I knew very very quickly that things with Gina were never going to be the same. Once we broke up, I wanted to come here, immediately, and not just for… _this_. You’re my best friend, you’re the only person I wanted to talk to about my break up. But I knew I couldn’t come here without doing this, I couldn’t see you without kissing you, without making this happen one way or the other, and that felt so disrespectful, to _both_ of you. That’s not how I treat women. Gina deserves better than someone who dated her while harboring secret feelings for his best friend, and you deserve someone who could _understand_ their feelings on their own, without needing you to tell them to make sure. I was an idiot. I wanted to rush to you as soon as I realized, but I just couldn’t do that to you. It’s bad enough to Gina already, and I didn’t want to make you a rebound. There were so many times that I almost—but I waited. Believe me, I know that I’m an asshole. But I’m an asshole who loves you, if you’ll forgive me.”

Clarke lets out a watery laugh. She can’t stop grinning at him.

“I love you too.”

The look on Bellamy’s face, the fact that he’s even the least bit shocked by this, sends a thrill through Clarke. She runs her fingers through his hair.

“Of course I love you, Bellamy.”

He leans down to kiss her again, soft pecks that quickly turn longer and burning.

“Was three months long enough, or is this too soon?”

“It was exactly three months too long to be without you. Don’t you dare stay away from me that long ever again,” she says sternly.

Bellamy kisses down her neck, pausing to drag his teeth over her skin just enough to make her moan. He laughs, like he almost can’t believe it.

“Noted.”

They make out in the kitchen for a while, but then they tumble into Clarke’s bedroom, pulling off each other’s shirts and falling into bed. Bellamy keeps trying to slow it down, but Clarke keeps trying to speed it up, desperate to have him inside her after months of dreaming about him.

“Bellamy, please don’t make me wait,” she whines, after he’s thrown her bra across the room and kissed his way down her body.

He laughs, bright and happy, into her hip.

“I’m not making you wait, Clarke, I’m trying to make this _good_. Jesus Christ, so unappreciative.”

That makes her laugh, but then he’s sliding her sweatpants down her legs and… she’s not wearing any underwear. She feels a jolt of satisfaction go straight to her cunt at the look on his face, awestruck and eager and she just, loves him so much. She can’t believe it took them so long.

He grabs her hips as he licks into her, holding her down when he focuses on her clit and she rocks up against his mouth. He moans into her, and it’s about the best sound she’s ever heard. He works her clit until she’s breathing hard and tugging at his hair, his name falling out of her mouth between groans and sighs.

“Please get up here,” she begs, and he does, kissing his way back up her body and pressing, “I love you” into her skin between kisses.

She hands him a condom, and he gets it on quickly enough, but pauses to kiss her for a long moment, until she can’t take it anymore and pulls him by the hips down to grind against her.

He reaches down to make sure she’s wet enough, strokes her clit a few times to have her gasping, and then slides into her.

It’s so much better than she was even expecting, and if Bellamy’s choked grunts are anything to go by, it’s the same for him. He buries his face in her neck as his hips rock, and he’s only slid gently into her a few times before she’s dragging his head up by his hair so he can see her face as she comes, his mouth having worked her up and Bellamy’s cock just enough to push her over the edge.

His expression is astonished, and then gratified, and then he’s diving back into her harder and more determined than before. He kisses her, bruising pressure against her yielding mouth as Clarke digs her fingers into his back and scratches red marks into his skin in retaliation.

She moans desperately when he palms her breast, when he groans, “God, Clarke, you’re—this is,” unable to finish the sentence.

She runs her fingers up his neck soothingly, holding his face between her hands as he keeps pumping into her. “Did you think about this?”

He shakes his head, like he can’t believe she even has to ask. “All the time. You said you wanted to be the person I make love to and I just—I was a goner, Clarke. I couldn’t get it out of my head, get _you_ out of my head.”

He strokes her cheek with his thumb. “The second you said all those things that you wanted, I wanted them too. With you, all of it with you.”

Clarke moans happily when he hits just the right spot inside her, and Bellamy takes note, angling his hips to find it again and thrusting until she’s letting out a delighted little shout every time he strokes it.

He pushes a hand between them and brushes her clit, and soon enough she’s coming again, her voice nothing but a harsh cry as Bellamy drags it out, each time he sinks into her sending a delicious shock through her body. He comes with a sharp groan, collapsing, and when he makes to roll off her she keeps her arms wrapped around him, refusing.

She plays with his hair, which she knows he loves, and when he’s recovered enough he rests on his elbows, hovering over her. He leans down, kisses her and pulls her bottom lip from between her teeth, nipping at it with his own instead.

“I love you,” he murmurs, all warmth.

She grins. She can still feel the aftershocks of her orgasm pulsing through her, and she’s so unbelievably happy.

“I love you too.”

Bellamy’s face darkens suddenly. “I’m so sorry, Clarke, for not realizing, for—”

She cuts him off with a hand over his mouth and a hushing sound.

“Stop, stop, please. You are _not_ the only one at fault here. And you’re forgiven, for all of it, so please don’t think that you have something to earn from me. Let’s just agree that we’re both idiots but we’re going to be better about it from now on, okay?”

He smiles at her, lazy and boyish. “Okay. And that we love each other.”

Clarke smiles back. “And that we love each other.”

**Author's Note:**

> Please leave a comment if you enjoyed :)


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